


Nothing Lasts Forever

by Fmnds



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 17:25:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17687756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fmnds/pseuds/Fmnds
Summary: Grown witches don't end up in situations like this. We all have our weaknesses and Neville was hers.





	Nothing Lasts Forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isilloth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isilloth/gifts).



> Thank you to Suburbansun for being my beta. She always goes above and beyond. Remaining mistakes are my own!

Hermione was terrible at decisions. People who were good at decisions didn’t wind up in situations like this.

She attempted to glare a hole through the kitchen wall in front of her before hitting her head against it several times. Ron and the kids were tucked away in bed, while she was battling a hangover that rivaled the strength of one or two unforgivables. One or two more knocks against the wall should accomplish the desired result: complete memory annihilation. Hell, she could go for an Obliviate right about now.

Surely that shot last night had had something stronger than Firewhisky in it. Something, anything, that could explain this. She was a grown woman. A fully-fledged witch, for fuck's sake, and a good one, too.

Fuzzy memories came back to her in short bursts. Every time she tried to remember, she felt like she was missing something crucial. It was like staring into someone else’s Pensieve.

It was the 10th anniversary of the Battle. In honor of the dead, they had thrown a party. There had been drinking and laughing. There had been a Vampire DJ and a Weird Sisters memorial band. There had been endless, uninhibited dancing. There had been self-medicating to forget exactly what had once been sacrificed for victory.

Then there had been the mutual decision that she and Neville would be each other’s drinking buddy. It had all made tremendous sense at the time. 

Two old schoolmates, both married, both parents. They could act as each other’s accountability. 

Until, suddenly, they stopped.

Hannah had been at the party earlier on, in a dress that barely concealed her expanding belly. Neville’s two adorable offspring got along famously with Hermione’s Hugo.

Hermione knew she was the envy of half the party. Prominent job with the Ministry, married to a fellow hero, scars faded from battle. Who wouldn't want her life?

As her memories trickled back, she could recall Neville initiating it. She knew herself, though. She knew how affectionate she could get when she’d had a few too many Firewhiskys. Perhaps she’d brushed his thigh? Tried to hold his hand? Laughed a little too hard at one of his jokes? She didn’t exactly have the most spotless record when it came to fidelity. But since she had married Ron, she had been faithful. She hasn’t strayed. She recited the fucking mantra. She’d earned her chip and everything.

“Has that door been there the whole time?” Neville had whispered, gesturing toward a non-descript door on the far side of the room.

She’d stared at the door and her mind had drifted. Ron had been distant lately. If she was honest with herself (which she rarely was-- Hermione was nothing if not gifted at compartmentalizing), things had always been a little rough. But it had reached a new peak, and there was nothing she could do to make him happy. The yelling had started in earnest a few weeks ago, and it hadn’t stopped.

Pushing thoughts of her husband from her mind, Hermione had focused her gaze on him. Neville wasn’t what she remembered. Of course, he had really always been Ron’s friend, not hers. He had been sort of a brother type, maybe a half-brother she didn’t think of often. But now…

A few hours in found them curled up next to each other in a quiet room with only a few others around. The cozy couch and inviting fire made her feel like she was back in the Gryffindor dorm. She was sure they had had an intelligent conversation. It had been friendly, familiar, warm, and for once in a long time, she had felt something akin to happiness.

“If someone wanted to go through that door, they should probably go through it in about 10 or 15 minutes,” he’d said flirtatiously. Then he’d winked at her. Neville fucking Longbottom had winked at her. He got up and walked through the door, tossing one last look at her over his shoulder. 

She blamed the door, honestly. She swore it hadn’t been there until they had sat down. Damn magically appearing doors. 

She’d drank straight from the bottle for a while after watching him leave. The logical part of her brain had known she was about to cross a line.

After ten minutes had passed, she’d walked in the same direction he’d gone, unsure of what carried her there. Once through the door, she’d looked around into the dark night, and when she didn't immediately see him, she’d turned to go. What the hell had she been doing, anyway?

“Hermione,” he’d whispered from the shadows that had obscured the exterior wall of the house. 

Before she’d realized that her feet had carried her there, she was up against the wall. Up against him. His hands had been on her shoulders. Then they’d run down her arms, fingertips lightly caressing her skin.

“This is a bad idea,” she’s managed to choke out, unable to look away from his upper arms, which had been practically pinning her in place.

“I agree,” he’d whispered, continuing his slow caress.

“A very bad idea,” Hermione had scolded his fingers.

“On many levels, even.” His touch had then grown bolder, first trailing down her sides and then suddenly landing on her arse. A moan had betrayed her. His lips had flown from her neck, to her mouth, her ear as he’d whispered, “All night I’ve been so hard for you.”

The most un-Neville phrase in history had been like an electroshock to her frontal lobe.

Flashes of their spouses, their children, and the realization that where this headed was indeed wall fucking, had caused her to panic.

And she’d run. 

She couldn’t actually Obliviate herself, could she? Hermione grimaced as she sipped a mug of tea that had long gone cold, the bright morning sunshine making her head pound. It would be wrong, she decided. She was an adult, and adults faced the consequences of their actions head-on.

And, if she was truly honest with herself (which she so very, very rarely was), a part of her didn’t want to forget. The part of her that could still remember the feel of Neville’s thumb against her jaw, his broad chest pressing against hers, his breath warm against her cheek-- that part of her never, ever wanted to forget. 

She heard Ron stirring in the other room and sucked down the last of her tea, stealing her nerves before getting up to meet him. 

Hermione Granger was terrible at decisions, but she was good at compartmentalizing, and that meant even the fuzziest memory of the previous evening would get her through the day.


End file.
